“Are you prepared to convert to the one truth faith, then, Amir?” Lorenzo di Medici asked, knowing the answer in advance. “You are an infidel, and as such will never be allowed to wed the lady in question. I’m sorry, but that is the truth of the matter, and surely you are sensible enough to understand that.”
“I would allow her to keep her own religion, as my ancestor Sultan Orkhan allowed his Byzantine princess wife to keep hers,” Amir said.
“The Greek church is a schism of the Holy Mother’s Church, my good and dear friend,” Lorenzo di Medici explained. “Here in the West, that princess was considered no more than your ancestor’s concubine. If you wed your lady love, she would be considered as such, and her loving family would disown her. She could never again see them. She would be dead to them. Is that what you want for her?”
Amir was suddenly afraid for Bianca. “Where is she?” he demanded to know. “Is she all right? What has been done with her?”
“No harm has nor will come to her,” the di Medici reassured his companion. “I have sent my own soldiers and a household official down to Luce Stellare to bring her back to her family here in Florence. The villa is to be shut up, the servants paid for a year and sent back to their own village. Her family will make her see the wisdom of their decisions. They will make another—a better—marriage for her. There is no harm done here. The lady was a widow, not a virgin. If there is no fruit of your entanglement, and that will be known quickly enough, then she will leave Florence sooner rather than later to become another man’s wife. As for you, Amir, you will remain here in the Palazzo della Signoria awaiting the sultan’s orders to return home to your own land.” He drank deeply from his goblet, then continued.
“I regret having to do this, but I am told that shortly there would have been a vessel anchored off the coast opposite your own villa come to take you and the lady back to your own home there. You understand that we could not allow you to abscond with the daughter of a respected Florentine house. Such a scandal could have endangered the chances of the lady’s other sisters marrying into the right families. So here you must remain, awaiting your grandfather’s orders to return home. I hope he will not be too angry with you, but I have been given to understand you are one of his favorite grandsons, so perhaps this will not put you entirely out of his favor.”
“A favor, Lorenzo,” Amir said. “Will you allow my slave, Krikor, to return to my villa to fetch my dog? I am particularly fond of that hound. I raised him from a puppy, and he came with me from Turkey. I should like to have him when I return home.”
“Of course, of course,” Lorenzo di Medici said, understanding. A man’s favorite dog was a part of him. “The slave may come and go freely, even if you cannot. You may desire a courtesan to come and visit you. It is quite permissible. I am told you are most popular among these ladies. Warn Krikor, however, that he is not to attempt to contact the lady we have so carefully shielded from gossip this day, my friend. If he is caught he will be severely beaten. I cannot be defied in this matter.”
“I understand,” Amir said. “I value him too much in one piece to endanger him.”
Lorenzo di Medici stood up. “Then I shall leave you,” he said.
“What? You will not give me an opportunity to beat you in chess?” Amir asked.
Lorenzo di Medici chuckled. “Another time, old friend. I have sat as long as I can today. I have not yet ridden, and you know how much I enjoy both the exercise and the outdoors.” He stood up and stretched his long limbs. “Perhaps one day you will ride within the piazza with me. I know you are an active man, and being cooped up here will eventually become frustrating for you.”
“She can’t be forced into another marriage,” Amir called after his guest.
Lorenzo di Medici turned. “Eventually she will have no choice,” he said. “You have met her mother, I know. Orianna will have her way sooner than later.” Then he was gone, leaving Prince Amir ibn Jem to consider their conversation. Oh, Signora Pietro d’Angelo would try her best, but he did not believe she would overcome Bianca’s determination.
Orianna Pietro d’Angelo was not getting her way in the matter of her eldest daughter. Upon her return, Bianca had refused to speak with her mother, despite the warm and loving welcome her family had given her. She would not eat unless the meal was brought to her chamber, and then she ate only what was necessary to sustain her, making a point of sending back her favorite dainty delicacies that were brought to tempt her. She began to lose weight—and she had never been a full-figured girl to begin with. Her lustrous, long dark hair became dull and lost its healthy sheen.
Orianna was at her wits’ end. “Why do you refuse to understand that what has been done has been done for your own good?” she demanded of Bianca one day.
Bianca said nothing. Indeed, her eyes were not even focused on her mother.
Orianna shrieked with her frustration. “You are an ungrateful girl!”
Bianca shrugged, then turned and walked away from her mother. It was an act of defiance such as had never been seen in the Pietro d’Angelo household.
“I will send you to a cloistered nunnery until you come to your senses!” Orianna screamed. “I will give orders for you to be beaten daily, and fed on bread and water!”
Bianca turned. “Anywhere I do not have to listen to the sound of your harping voice,signora, will be paradise,” she said. They were the first words she had spoken to her mother in the month since she had been brought home.
Orianna’s mouth fell open with shock, and she collapsed against her servingwoman, Fabia, gasping.
“You are a wicked girl!” Fabia scolded Bianca.
“If I am, I have learned it at your mistress’s hand,” Bianca replied coldly.
Orianna made a noise that sounded very much like a squeak.
Bianca laughed and then said, “With your permission I will go and make my confession for these sins of disrespect to Father Bonamico.”
Orianna could not speak but she nodded weakly. Perhaps the priest could talk some sense into her stubborn daughter.
Bianca called for Agata to join her, and the two women put on their hooded cloaks, left the palazzo, and walked across the piazza to Santa Anna Dolce. They found the elderly priest, and Bianca told him she would speak with him in the confessional while Agata waited for her.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she began.
“Tell me the nature of your sins, my daughter,” the priest answered her.
